


Broken Bones

by Goombella123



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Medical Trauma, Mixed Martial Arts, this will end happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-15 22:11:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12329874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goombella123/pseuds/Goombella123
Summary: At 27 years old, Katsuki Yuuri has fought long and hard to finally get his chance at becoming the WFC's lighweight champion. But an old injury has come back to haunt him, and his own mind is more threatening than the men he faces in the rink- so the elusive title remains out of his grasp.He just wishes it wasn't so embarrassing, to lose for such a stupid reason.He just wishes he could get over himself.





	Broken Bones

**Author's Note:**

> WFC = fictional version of UFC
> 
> Also, i use 'rink' instead of 'ring' intentionally. I know which is more correct but i like the relation to skating that 'rink' has.
> 
>  
> 
> Please be gentle with me.

 

 

JAPAN’S ‘LIGHTWEIGHT ACE’ FORFEITS MATCH TO YURI PLISETSKY

 

Earlier this month, the world of Mixed Martial Arts bore witness to the start of a beautiful rivalry between Japan’s Ace, Katsuki Yuuri, and the Russian Punk, Yuri Plisetsky. In the semi-final round of the Lightweight Championships last night, that rivalry came to a gruelling head.

 

Katsuki and Plisetsky were found trading ‘fighting words’ before the WFC match, in the men’s backstage bathrooms, where Katsuki appeared worse for wear. Though Katsuki has always claimed that he and Plisetsky have no reason to be on bad terms, there was no love last night between the two contenders. Despite only recently making his WFC debut, Plisetsky went on to win the match against the well-seasoned Kastuki in just one round, with a clean tap-out submission.

 

 With his embarrassingly quick win, Plisetsky’s supporters are now accusing Katsuki of throwing the match against him. The man himself has made no media statements regarding the allegations, appearing too emotional to speak with reporters both immediately post-match and at the press conference. The 27-year-old has avoided all social media sites while he nurses last night’s injuries-  and with his history of inconsistency, his future in the WFC is now up for speculation by fans and officials alike.

 

Plisetsky is set to step back into rink against fellow Russian Viktor Nikiforov in a month’s time, for the Grand Finale of the Lightweight Championships. Meanwhile, Katsuki Yuuri walks away from his shot at the title yet again- no doubt disappointed at wasting but another opportunity to face his Idol.

 

  * 21st December, 2015, Hisashi Morooka



 

 

 

\---

 

 

_maybe it’s time for you to retire._

Plisetsky’s words sting like fire. His punches still rattle Yuuri’s teeth, still bore into him in his dreams, when he closes his eyes against the sweat-stained rink of his memories. He went for the head when they fought, right between the eyes, and he shit-talked like his words were fists. Mental weakness. That’s what he’d said to him. You’re a broken bone that keeps breaking.

 

When are you going to heal?

Yuuri could’ve shown him. Give him a clean shot of his nose, and he could’ve shown him. 

 

A woman shouts, “Next!”, and Yuuri, dully, steps up into line.

 

“Welcome to Starbucks!”

 

He forces himself to return her plastic, cheap smile. One thing Yuuri _didn’t_ miss about going outside was the strain on his facial muscles that was ‘pretending to be happy’ all the time. And his mental muscles. Having to pretend… that was so much like the press conferences where he lied and said he’d make it to the finals.

 

“Now,” the girl starts, “What can I get yyyyyyyyyuuri.”

 

Yuuri blinks. A second’s pause.

 

“…Um." he says. "One of those chilled tea thingys, please. I don’t know the… name. Of them.”

 

“Yuuri.” the woman repeats. “Yuuri Katsuki, the fighter. Do you  _seriously_  not recognize me.”

 

Yuuri  _seriously_  doesn’t recognize her.

 

“I’m sorry. I’m-“

 

She puffs her chest out, tugging on her name tag like it means something. “I’m Sara Crispino!” she yells. “We took ballet classes together before you started mixed martial arts, remember? You were that in love with this Nikiforov guy! You know, the one that you-“

 

“Shh, yes, ok, I remember you!” Yuuri waves his hands in front of her face, frantically. He doesn’t need anyone who recognizes his name to think he’s even  _more_  of a loser because of his... purely professional and unrequited crush on Viktor. Who lives in Russia and wouldn’t even give Yuuri a second glance before knocking his lights out, provided he actually gets to meet him in the ring like he’s been trying to for the past _five years_. Yuuri would also rather not be judged for being a former danseur pre-discovering Mixed Martial Arts. Or, sort of. The verdict’s still out on how good he was.

 

Sara gets the memo, either way, and she changes the subject with a pout. “Fine.” she says. “Lemonade, Green?”

 

“…Black tea, please.” Yuuri sighs. “And a cappuccino to go. I’ve had a long week.”

 

Yuuri’s had a long  _six months_  since he lost the Plisetsky fight, but he isn’t about to divulge that information to anybody.  It’s not just that he lost- it’s the fact that he lost so badly over something dumb like _anxiety_ that makes him feel awful, makes his shit brain repeat that he’s worthless, he’s worthless, he’s worthless. Fighting is all he’s good for, and even now, that--

 

So he’d moved out of family's home and started fresh.

 

Left his manager and coach and cut contact with the WFC, switched gyms, rented an apartment closer to it… stopped drinking coffee, and switched to every possible kind of tea on the American market. Which he’d just ordered one of, obviously, and Yuuri registers Sara dutifully asks him for the name on his order.

 

“…Uh. Make something up.” he stammers, without thinking. “Like. um, Josh. Please. Thank you,”

 

Yuuri’s name obviously isn’t Josh.

 

But he’s starting to get anxious about the eyes trailing him after Sara’s outburst, so even though she looks at him kind of funny, he lets her snort, and she continues on with his order.

 

“ ‘Um Josh’ it is!”

 

 

\---

 

(sara wrote her phone number underneath the name ‘Um Josh’)

 

(...is someone gonna tell her that the last person to touch yuuri in any way was a physiotherapist?)

 

\---

  

 

 

“Mari! Coffee!” Yuuri shouts.

 

Mari strolls from around the corner- her hand wrapped around a mop- as Yuuri slips off his sneakers hands-free. His sister practically yawns upon arrival, her slippered feet shuffling softly across the floorboards with socks on underneath for the tatami. “About time.” She snorts, blowing a lock of hair from her face, taking her cappuccino. “I was  _this_  close to snoozin’ in the mop-bucket. Thanks, lil bro.”

 

Behind her, a small number of patrons lounge around the Onsen. Stepping into the general living area, Yuuri already feels refreshed- the steam from the baths out back creeps across the entire resort, filling it with a calming haze, a quiet warmth through Yuuri’s lungs, his toes, sapping any tension and anxiety. Though they normally get an influx of people during the winter months,  _Yuu-topia Akatsuki_  is well renowned enough with the rich hipster part of Detroit to get year-long business. It also happens to be Yuuri’s family home. He comes over during the nights to work, after spending his days at the gym, trying to get back into a routine. Sometimes, he just comes over to eat or to soak in the springs.

 

All things considered, Yuuri’s got a pretty good deal, he guesses. His life could be better, but it isn’t abysmal by any means. He’s got money, food, a home he can go back if he feels like being a pathetic recluse again…

 

“Where’s Mom?” he asks. Mari takes a single sip of her coffee, crinkling her nose at the taste of it. She leans against her mop with a hip cocked, still looking like a yankee even as she draws close to her 40s.

 

“She’s out. But you’re cutting straight to the chase, aren’t ya?” she sighs. “Were you here just to see her? Cause you know she’s gonna try to convince you to stay, like always.”

 

Yuuri lowers his gaze, behind his glasses.

 

“I’m… sorry.” he mumbles, and Mari frowns.  

 

“What for? Don’t be. You know what Mom’s like.”

  

Yuuri hums. He’s long done with his shaken-ice-black-whatever tea, but he watches as Mari practically skulls her lukewarm coffee. She downs the stuff like Yuuri downs Gatorade post-workout, ever since she quit smoking, and Yuuri almost wishes he could afford to make bad choices like that.

 

When she’s done, she takes a sigh.

 

“Anyway.” Mari says. “You gotta tell me what’s up, lil bro. What’s new in your life?”

 

Yuuri smirks, but not for a good reason.

 

He just finds it funny, is all- how she says ‘lil bro’ like that, when there’s not a time in Yuuri’s life that he can remember being called ‘ _ototo-san’_ or any other kind of endearment from his harsh older sister.

 

(like an afterthought. like a nickname she keeps forgetting to tack on, for an all-important reason mari _must_ make her affection as overbearingly apparent as possible)

 

As she leads Yuuri through their home, and he stares into the mix of bodies and faces relaxing after the steam, he wishes he was just one of them- a stranger, with no history to take pity on.

 

“Not… much is ‘up’ with me.” Yuuri says, tersely. “Nothing you don’t already know about, anyway.”

 

“That’s not what I meant,” Mari says, faking oblivion. “I meant that you should tell me about your friends and shit. I ain’t asking for a medical certificate.”

 

Yuuri flinches.

 

“I don’t have friends,” he says.

 

“Yeah you do! Like that Thai boy.” Mari shrugs. 

 

“That was Phichit.” Yuuri says. “He was my manager. I paid him.”

 

“Ok, then.” Mari grins. “What about Yuuko and her husband?”

 

“They’re co-workers.” Yuuri spits. “Sometimes I babysit for them, but they just _happen_ to work at the gym. Mari, you’re not-”

 

The STAFF ONLY door-sign is new, complete with electronic lock… and it’s where Mari stops. Where Mari’s hand pauses on the handle, when she tries to turn it, to escape. 

 

“…You _do_ have friends, Yuuri.” she says. “No matter what crap you keep tryna pull with me. I just thought you’d be out there making new ones, ‘s all. Conversation starters.”

 

“I don’t want to talk to new people.” Yuuri lies.

 

 _I don’t want to talk to you about this_ , he thinks truthfully.

 

“Yuuri.” Mari insists. “Come on. You have to have  _somebody_ to hang out with. Somebody to experience new things with.”

 

Now that’s a laugh. Not that Mari cares what Yuuri thinks, She says,“Why do you think I’m always checking on Tinder, if not looking for new opportunities to go _do_ things?”

 

“Things?” Yuuri scoffs. “You’re worse than me, calking people objects.”

 

Mari’s look is scathing. And her fingers twitch, like she wants a cigarette.

 

Coffee does nothing.

 

But she doesn’t say anything despite that. What she does do is finally find it in herself to remember the door code- push the shiny door handle, and open the corridor to Yuuri’s old house, the hall, the bedrooms.

 

His old self-imposed prison.

 

“The moment you can’t look after yourself anymore,” Mari says, “Society will think you’re a burden. Don’t let that happen, Yuuri.”

 

Yuuri’s knows she means well. He knows her words translate to ‘go get some friends’, but there’s something wrong with the translation machine between spoken word and feeling, and all Yuuri hears is ‘ _you’re not doing enough. you’re not good enough_.’

 

That’s why she’s his sister, and not his friend.

 

“I have a job. I have a home. I’ll be fine.”

 

Mari hums, apparently satisfied.

 

 

 

...Yuuri faintly wishes he could say the same.

 

 

\---

 

 

 He gets home to several missed calls.

 

Though, Yuuri’s ‘home’ might as well amount to a shitty old hotel suite, with how little he actually lives in it. Cheapness and disuse is like a combination aesthetic pulled off a dollar-store shelf here, and it was first encountered in the halls of Apartment 25 where the ‘crippled boxer’ lived.

Katsuki Yuuri, Japan’s greatest disappointment.

 

He pushes through the blank door, into the blank living room, and drops off his bootleg Adidas gym-bag into the laundry. Then, he flops into a double bed with mismatched bedsheets with an indent on only one side. A very deep indent.

 

Who knew, working and working _out_ was so exhausting?

The ache ran deeper than permanently crumpled bedsheets.

To regular people (not yuuri) who can afford their own houses and have nice lives, or a girlfriend or a boyfriend or a dog, it’d seem kind of depressing. And it _is_ , but… Yuuri won’t ever begrudge what mercies he’s given, even when they’re in the form of barely-passable apartments and long days spent being exhaustively productive.

 

(productive. productive. not useless. productive.)

 

Except he’s not doing anything right now. And won’t have anything to do until 6am, at the least.

 

He might as well check those missed calls, then.

 

‘Phichit Chulanont, 3:15PM, Voice Message. Christophe Giacometti, 7:23PM, Voice Me- ‘

Delete. Meanwhile…

 

 (Google Gmail- _400 unread)_

 

…Yikes, Yuuri thinks.

 

He considers messaging them back. Or at least, considers returning their calls. Considers. He doesn’t. He doesn’t…

Yuuri shakes his head.

 

No. It’s better like this. To stay cut off from everyone in the WFC, and leave his old self behind with them.

 

He knows their pity would make him wish he’d actually died, were he to receive it.

 

 

\---

 

 

News Archives, 2002. SPORTS NEWS NETWORK SPECIAL FEATURE: How VIKTOR NIKIFOROV is re-invigorating the WWS for fans WORLDWIDE.

by Allegra D’Antonio

 

At noon today, I had the pleasure of sitting down with a group of twelve children- all American, but of different backgrounds- to talk about sport. Specifically, I wanted to quiz them on Viktor Nikiforov: the youngest, most outrageous star of the ‘Wonder Wrestling Saga’ world tour. At just 18 years old, Nikiforov seems to be a face of change in our sporting society. With his androgynous looks, and his energetic character of ‘Aria’ the ice dancer, he’s been making headlines in his outspokenness for women’s rights among other longstanding socio-political issues. Certainly, he appears to be a breath of fresh air to a sport normally catered to hyper-masculinity.

 

One of the kids I spoke with seemed to share this opinion. Age 13, he said,: “I think… it’s really cool how Viktor can be so beautiful, but so strong at the same time. I hear people talk about how girls can be tough and pretty, but no one ever says that boys can be that too. Viktor makes me want to fight just as hard as he does!”

 

 

 

 (…continue article?)

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I WASN'T GOING TO POST THIS I DONT KNOW WHAT IM DOING UHHH FEEDBACK APPRECIATED I GUESS
> 
> HELP? HElp.


End file.
